


to sea, once more

by honeydowo



Category: SK8 the Infinity (Anime)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Anxiety, Blood and Injury, Falling In Love, M/M, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Skateboarding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:40:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29266638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeydowo/pseuds/honeydowo
Summary: Something like falling in love, the scraping of knees on asphalt.Something like adoration, in the aching of a young heart, in the fear of losing what's dear.Langa and Reki, in a moment so pivotal time stutters to a halt.or,Langa skates against Adam, and nothing can ever be the same again.
Relationships: Hasegawa Langa/Kyan Reki, but like implied - Relationship, y'know - Relationship
Comments: 3
Kudos: 45





	to sea, once more

**Author's Note:**

> dedicated to my friend that got me into sk8. you know who u are <3 
> 
> this is,,, a thing. it's barely comprehensible, and relies pretty heavily on flowery language and very, very long sentences and metaphors.  
> if that's not your thing, i don't think you'll like this story tbh skgdhsks

> There is no clean way to enter the heavy machinery of the heart.  
> Just jagged cutthroat questions.  
> Just the glitter and blood production.
> 
> **-Mindy Nettifee, This is the Nonsense of Love**

_There is something about standing on a skateboard, Langa decides, something ethereal and otherworldly, something that sets his veins alight with the triumphant feeling of being alive._

_(It's all-consuming like this, the pressure of the asphalt against the sole of his shoes, the need to be faster, be better - his lungs burn with the rushing air. Faster, the asphalt beckons, and Langa gives in.)_

\---

He didn't listen. This entire time- Langa and him, and they- 

Langa never listens.

Reki knows this, yet can't place how - his thoughts as tangled yarn and words drying on his tongue, fish washed up on a beach - still knowing, despite all, as the screen in front of him displays perfect apparitions of boards and blue hair.

Langa never listens.

There's a truth, in there, a twisted irony, because he always _fucking listens_ , whatever Reki is raving on about, always listens and understands. 

And yet- 

_(Brilliant 4K truths splayed open on glimmering asphalt - memories of Langa wiggle in the vision, and the winding roads swallow his bent form, spit out over a canvas for the world to see.)_

Langa never listens, and Reki knows this as he knows the feeling of pushing the asphalt beneath his feet away, perfect friction, knows in the way he knows how to position his feet and turn his body - pivoting towards insanity, neverending adrenaline rush and the feeling of short-term flight.

(It should be him, facing the twisting turns of the treacherous road. It should be him. Reki knows.) 

Sickening close-ups invade Reki's mind, and his breath scrapes his throat dry - a jagged, desperate thing, clawing itself out of his body, into the night air.

He feels ill. 

And with each push, Langa's feet flirt with the abyss. He's confident like this, a bent, incomprehensible thing like love or the colour blue, and his twisting shadow echoes the impression of wings. He doesn't falter, doesn't slow. 

_Danse macabre_ , the crumbling dirt sings, and Reki sees the sudden beauty in it, the destructive freedom of looking into death's shining red eyes and smiling. He sees Langa, and knows what it means - here, now, remnants of a life lost. Does it mean something? 

_(Freedom, love - twins in their destruction, toiling in silence. What is there to say?)_

Reki forces out a laugh - it's wobbly, unstable; something just on the edge of falling _(like loosened hair, like rain)_ and colourfully monochrome. 

The wind tugs him east, over barriers and cheering bystanders, up and over to a friend and a hardened determination so very unknown to him.

"If he continues on like this-" 

"-he might be able to make it." 

The reddened swirl of words scramble up, up, and what was said is true, at least as far as Reki can tell, but something about the voice gives him a headache anyway.

The wind has picked up, and it's dry and _fuck, god,_ Reki's head aches. Something is wrong.

There's a curve. It registers numbly in Reki's brain, like water dripping through cotton filling, barely there and everywhere at the same time - Langa falters, and Adam pulls him in, and the crowd cheers.

Primal fear and unnatural stillness - there’s a delighted sort of lilt to the audiences cheers, something unhinged and overwhelmed and all consuming, and Langa's face is carved into deep lines of fear. Reki aches for the warm hand of a friend for just a second. Something is wrong. Something is wrong.

Everything slows, and speeds up, and the world spins and Adam's horrible, perfect hands grasp the back of Langa's shirt and pull him closer, closer - _there's something immortal in the meeting of warm skin_ \- and the world is like a backwards recording, all wails and shimmering, unearthly noises, and the screen becomes and stays centerpiece. 

It's been hard, in this world with no rules, but Reki fears how easily Langa melts into the wind.

_(Faster, it beckoned, and Reki had planted his feet on the ground._

_Faster, it beckoned, and Langa had sped up.)_

Langa lets himself be pulled, dances as a marionette with too many strings, puppets awkward motions, frail as porcelain.

Adam whispers something he can't hear with lips that don't move.

Langa smiles.

Reki wants to throw up.

From behind him, someone gasps.

They've moved on to the next curve since Reki had blinked.

They're separated now, the dancers of this ballet, foggy, dream-like unrealness settling in the way they move - a curse, this talent, a blessing, this love. Or is it the other way around? Reki can't tell. It doesn't matter. 

Because Langa can't slow down now.

_(Reki feels like there's no blood left in his veins. He thinks if Langa were to fall now, he'd crack his head open and fall apart like an eggshell. Or he doesn't think at all. He can't tell anymore.)_

The world is smudged, a watercolour painting left out of focus, and Adam opens his arms.

Adam opens his arms, and there's something sick festering in Reki's gut, a parasitic worm of unease. The world is silent, and Langa moves to jump.

(Somewhere, Icarus leaps into the sky and touches the sun's glistening rays. His wings blister and melt and burn - Icarus falls, and becomes a tragedy. 

Here, Langa lifts his board and flies. His eyes are hardened and muscles tensed, determined in the face of waxen wings - Langa lands, and becomes the new Eve.) 

Someone's yelling. Or they aren't.

Does it matter? 

Bewitched by pixelated madness and multicolored images, Reki stays transfixed by the screen coolly displaying the fate of a friend - there are words spilling out of his mouth like fresh blood, sinking into unhearing ears. Can the others not feel the earth spinning? Destiny sinking its vicious teeth into their lives? 

Time passes all at once and not at all and he’s somewhere stuck in the center, in a constant state of running, in a constant state of staying still. He’s not sure if he even exists anymore. 

There's a motorbike. Right. 

His arm aches _(two weeks, full recovery),_ and the roads open mouth yawns deep in his bones, an old, dried sense of unease stirring.

Something's wrong.

For a moment, Reki lets himself be caught up in it.

Yawning streets, the sound of a howling motor and the absence of blood - is he too late already? 

_(Eggshells. Langa bleeds, and the asphalt mocks his hurt in burgundy.)_

The world crumbles away before his eyes, and a blank canvas opens up before him and Langa- 

Langa, _oh._

He feels like he should feel something. Happiness, relief, but there's only the phone buzz of anxiety beneath his skin. 

This isn't over, yet he still reaches out with battered fingers, for Langa, for reality, for something like peace.

(It should've been him.) 

Something deep in him wants to scream - tear open the sky with the raw force of his anguish, shake Langa and ask him _why, why couldn't you just've been careful_ , but another just wants to hold him close, relish in the sound of his heart beating.

This isn't over. 

And Reki feels like a fucked up patchwork doll, all falling apart at the seams, appalled by its own duality. 

He doesn't allow himself to crumble. 

(Not now. Not when there's so much left to be said, to confess.) 

"Stay away from him, yeah?", Reki says instead, grasping for what's left of this world, an olive branch. 

Langa breathes, face illuminated from above by soft orange light, and says, "Yeah, got it." 

_(It's soft, and Langa's hair is windswept, and the adrenaline still buzzes lightly in their veins. It's soft, and Reki figures it's enough.)_

**Author's Note:**

> THANK U FOR READING !!  
> this is entirely incomprehensible and feels more like a spiral into insanity than just,,, anxiety 😭  
> i thought it would be interesting to focus more on reki's feelings during the beef between langa and adam, especially since he has his own experiences and fears to deal with.  
> so,,, this was born. it's something, for sure skgdhsks 
> 
> follow me on [twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/RANB00TAN)   
> 
> 
> leave kudos and comments so my brain can produce some more serotonin


End file.
